


the unconfessables

by batman



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, there's a lot going on here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 13:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19831573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batman/pseuds/batman
Summary: INTJ's in love: a horror story.





	the unconfessables

**Author's Note:**

  * For [radians](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radians/gifts).



> LOOK, i wrote this months ago half-delirious from Pitgate. (if you don't follow me elsewhere and don't know of Pitgate, good for you.) tuna, who i wrote this for, has baited me into posting it by tweeting "DO IT NO BALLS" at me at least four times today. enjoy.

**From** : Takeda Ittetsu

 **Subject** : Welcome on board!

Akaashi,

I'll do away with the formalities; you already know what I think of your credentials. I'm writing to you to welcome you officially to the teaching faculty here as an assistant. I trust you won't need to be initiated, but please feel free to contact any of us should you require any assistance.

Yaku must have mailed you already, but he'd love for you to take over his _Russian for beginners_ class during the week he's taking off. It falls in line with your official induction week, so I think it'll be the perfect occasion for you to introduce yourself to the students and warm up to the new resident heads.

Attached is the annual schedule, a guide to the student and teacher housing, and a brochure for the first student-led performances of the year.

I'll see you on Monday. All the best!

Regards,

Takeda Ittetsu

 **4 ATTACHMENTS:** Annual_Schedule.pdf, Boardings_Guide.pdf, Summerfest_Invitation.pdf, GOLDENRATIO.png

**_DRAFT (1)_ **

_Subject: What the hell are you talking about_

_Takeda-san,_

_I can't speak a word of Russian, dear God. I barely even passed it; Yaku-san of all people should know that; what is going on. I applied to teach world history. Let me teach world history._

_Also, why is there an attachment called "GOLDEN RATIO" with a picture of nothing but someone's knee-pads?_

_Do not make me teach Russian, what are you doing._

_Akaashi Keiji, world history major_

**_DRAFT (2)_ **

_Takeda-san,_

_Я НЕ ГОВОРЮ ПО-РУССКИ. KNEE PADS?_

_Akaashi Keiji_

**SENT 13:02**

Takeda-san,

Thank you so much for taking me on. I'll be delighted to spend my gap year back at the school. I've missed the campus these past few years since graduation.

There might have been a slight confusion regarding my Russian qualifications, however, which I hope we can discuss on Monday.

Regards,

Akaashi Keiji

☼☼☼

**From:** Kozume Kenma

 **Subject:** You idiot

You lied on your résumé about being fluent in _Russian_ of all languages? There are twenty-nine ways of being absolutely fucked. You just invented number thirty.

☼☼☼

**From:** Takeda Ittetsu

 **Subject** : [none]

 **1 ATTACHMENT** : KAWAII.png

☼☼☼

**To:** Kozume Kenma  
 **Subject:** First day in Hades

Kenma,

To say the least, it was a disaster. I don't think I've ever seen Takeda-san look so disappointed in my life, not even that time he caught Konoha, well, you certainly remember. I don't think anyone has forgotten that, least of all Takeda-san, which is exactly why I felt what could be described as a twinge in my chest when I looked on at him earlier today. You know, even when we were studying here, I always felt a little special when Takeda-san spoke well of me to my parents. His wide eyes and kind eyes and, most importantly, sanity. I mean, I felt absolutely horrid, hurting his feelings like that.

But Kenma, I really don't speak a _lick_ of Russian.

He was, you know, flailing all over the place. He was like, _you don't speak Russian?_ And I was like, I was mostly referring to my high school classes when I noted it on my CV, yes. His heart broke in front of my eyes. For the fifth time since the start of the conversation. Honestly, it's a wonder I haven't been fired yet.

But yeah, he was floundering. He was like, _can't you teach some?_ He sounded really desperate. Kind of flapping his hands around a little. He was like, how about some geography. Moscow's the capital, Saint Petersburg's very beautiful. See, that's enough for the week.

Obviously, it isn't, Kenma, as you know. That's sixth-grade geography. This is high school first-years that we're talking about. But I was explaining that to him and I was interrupted, and it was— well, the entire reason that I'm writing you this email when I'm supposed to be having lunch and meeting the other staff. I mean to say, there was something even _worse_ than the whole Russian debacle. And it was like something out a horror film. Like, it all happened at once. First Takeda-san got this incredibly dark look in his eyes, and at the same time the door of his office swung open so violently I thought the security was here to escort me out already.

And then this guy screams, TAKEDA. THESE BOYS. THESE BOYS.

And— Kenma, when I turned around to look at him, he was a man with _fascinatingly small eyebrows._ Very nice curly hair, good solid frame, could be a gym coach but was supposedly a chemistry teacher, but his eyebrows were _minuscule. Nonexistent._ And he had two boys by their ears in this expert grip. You remember how Ukai-san did it, like, hard enough to show us that he's tired of us but not hard enough to be threatening or painful. That kind of expert grip. And then I saw one of the boys.

IT WAS KAWAII.PNG, KENMA. THE ONE FROM THE UNNERVINGLY ARTISTIC SELFIE FROM LAST WEEK'S HACKED EMAIL. Like, the portrait mode one, you surely remember. Like remember the six months I had with Sawamura on the same block before he shifted to Konoha's? Those were enough for me to lose faith in humanitarian thinking and gain a fearful reverence of computer wizards. And I mean, Takeda-san is just the kind of guy to get his email hacked, but I didn't expect the kid who did it to be _right there_ on day one.

By the way, yeah, his hair streaks look semi-permanent. I'm amazed they haven't made him get rid of them. And what's worse was his partner in crime. Like, KAWAII.png 2.0 had hair that was much worse in terms of defiance of gravity.

At that point, I figured that I was dreaming. And I was seized with this sense of injustice that one can only feel when something is absurd and against dream logic, you know? So I turned to Takeda-san and I was like, when WE were here you had us keep our hair flat and black.

AND HE WAS LIKE, times change. Matsukawa-san, how can I help you?

So Mini-Brow Matsukawa starts roaring again. "ALWAYS, EVERY SINGLE TIME, IT'S THESE TWO." He was so red in the face I thought he was going to pass out, but Takeda-san looked so calm I assumed this is a somewhat regular occurrence. "YOU KNOW WHAT THEY DID TODAY?"

"I don't particularly—"

"TODAY, THEY CHEATED ON MY TEST. THE FACT THAT THEY CHEATED ISN'T ALL THAT BAD, I GUESS, BUT THE PROBLEM IS _HOW_ THEY DID IT. ASK THEM HOW THEY CHEATED."

Takeda-san looked _so tired_ I thought HE was going to pass out. But he didn't, he just asked how they cheated. And there was this really long silence after that, and I was more or less waiting for my alarm to ring and wake me up and confirm that none of this was real. Honestly, I still am.

Anyway, KAWAII.png spoke up after the long silence, disappointing me. He was like, well, you know those really long elastic bands? The ones you use for slingshots and stuff?

Takeda was like, _I follow vaguely._

And then KAWAII.png 2.0 chipped in like, _we cut them through and punched holes in slips of paper. And then we kind of just…_

And like, dream or not, I was curious at this point, right? I hadn't exactly imagined my return to this place to be inaugurated with a semi-hysterical Takeda-san attempting to give me an emergency Russian geography lesson and then being crashed by these two wannabe bomber-jacket types and their _way too hot to be teaching chemistry_ chemistry professor— but you know me. I like to roll with the punches. So I'm looking at KAWAII.png 2.0 and waiting for him to continue.

AND THEN NEXT THING I KNOW HE STARTS UNBUTTONING HIS PANTS, KENMA.

AND TAKEDA WAS LIKE, KUROO, NO, PLEASE DON'T UNDRESS IN FRONT OF THE NEW TEACHING ASSISTANT AND MINIBROW MATSUKAWA IS YELLING AGAIN AND HE'S LIKE, WHY CAN'T HE UNDRESS IN FRONT OF THE NEW TEACHING ASSISTANT? HE WAS OKAY UNDRESSING IN MY TEST.

Anyway. I'm calm. And KAWAII.png genuinely tried to reassure us. He was like, _he's not taking them off completely, don't worry. Just a little._ And sure enough, Kuroo actually stopped once he reached the hem of his boxers and honestly Kenma, it was a work of art. It was, I was standing there and I just went, INCREDIBLE.

Like, they'd taken those slingshot-use elastic bands and LOOPED THEM THROUGH HOLES ALL AROUND THE HEM OF THE BOXERS. THE ANSWER SLIPS WERE HANGING OFF LIKE TASSELS. IT LOOKED LIKE SOMETHING TENDOU WOULD WEAR TO STICK IT TO THE MAN.

So Kuroo went, _if we want an answer, we just kind of…_ AND HE PULLED AT ONE OF THE SLIPS, STRETCHING IT TO A VERY IMPRESSIVE DISTANCE FROM HIS WAIST, SCRUTINISED IT, AND THEN LET IT SNAP BACK.

"Incredible," I said again, as you can imagine. And at that point everyone suddenly remembered that the doesn't-speak-Russian teaching assistant was actually present in the room, and honestly I wish I hadn't said anything. I genuinely believe I should've resigned when I could, i.e. at the precise moment that the fucking door swung open.

Anyway. KAWAII.png noticed me then, and he had this look on his face like he'd just won the lottery. I've never gotten chills that fast in my life. Terrifying.

He went, _YOU'RE_ the new guy??? And then he cleared his throat and went, "Sorry. Welcome to our hallowed establishment."

And it was like 9:28 AM Kenma, and my alarm showed NO signs of ringing anytime soon, and that's when I realised that all of this was my new reality and that I would very much have to live with it. I think I could've cried. But I didn't. I just kept my calm, introduced myself, learned KAWAII.png's name (I present to you the charming Bokuto Koutarou, the single most incredible toddler I've ever seen) and _then_ got the hell out of there to sit on a toilet and stare at the door.

Anyway, I have to go now. I really do need to meet the rest of the staff and see if Mini-Brow Matsukawa is available. I also need to look into some kind of supernatural protection from KAWAII.png. I don't like the look on that kid.

Wish me luck.

Best,

Keiji

☼☼☼

_Bzzzzzzz_.

Now, Tetsurou doesn’t like to be gotten wrong.

Life’s hard, okay? First of all, for _once_ , he wasn’t even on board with Bokuto’s stupid idea of sending a selfie to the new guy. Who does that? Who does that? (Well, he didn’t really get into trouble for it, so. But still. It’s the principle of the thing.) And second of all he wasn’t even _supposed_ to be in Takeda’s office at nine in the morning, it was supposed to be just Bokuto.

Tetsurou’s miserable three years in this dumbass boarding school can actually be summarised by _it was supposed to be just Bokuto_. For real, it was _Bokuto_ who stretched his cheat sheet too far and ended up snapping the rubber band and hitting himself in the nose, not Tetsurou. Why did _Tetsurou_ get in trouble? Because Matsukawa, like every other teacher on this stupid campus, was hundred percent aware that Bokuto never does any stupid shit without Tetsurou’s sponsorship.

Anyway. What he’s trying to say is—

 _Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz_.

That he doesn’t deserve half of the—

 _Bzz_.

Things that he goes through—

 _BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ_.

‘OH MY GOD,’ Tetsurou sobs. ‘CAN YOU PLEASE PICK UP THE PHONE.’

As it turns out, that desperate cry was all that Bokuto needed to _finally_ pick his phone up, because the ringing finally cuts off to his very pissed-off voice.

‘ _What_ ,’ says Bokuto.

‘THERE’S A WASP IN MY ROOM,’ Tetsurou says. ‘OH MY GOD, PLEASE COME GET IT OUT. BOKUTO I’M GOING TO DIE.’

‘No,’ Bokuto replies simply. ‘I told you to come out into the city with me, and you refused. I told you a second time to come out into the city with me, and you refused, a second time. A third time—‘

‘BOKUTO PLEASE. HE’S GOING TO KILL ME. HE’S GOING TO FLY INTO MY EAR.’

‘Tough luck. Why don’t you tell me how your thirty-fifth viewing of _Your Name_ goes.’ And as simple as that, Tetsurou’s _bestest friend_ in the _whole wide world_ , his partner in crime, his (very probable) soulmate and extremely factual roommate, hangs up on him.

Tetsurou, much like a character in a TV show, blinks down at his phone in disbelief. The clock informs him that he has thirty minutes before bedtime if he wants to get a full eight hours of sleep (which hasn’t happened since his childhood, back in the 1980’s when ethernet and hair gel were simultaneously a thing) and his lock screen, a magnificently ridiculous face-pulling selfie with Bokuto, is a taunting reminder of said Bokuto’s betrayal.

‘I hope the new teacher spits on you,’ Tetsurou says sincerely to the screen, then puts the phone away on his desk. Face down.

 _Bzzzzzz_.

And as simple as _that_ , the panic of living in the real world where real things such as bloodthirsty wasps and brain-eating amoeba that can enter through neti pots exist, returns to Tetsurou. He’s always maintained that the only thing more terrifying than an insect you can see is an insect that you suddenly can’t see anymore, so despite his brain screaming all sorts of things at him, he makes a pathetic whimper-like sound and looks to the source of the buzzing.

The wasp is currently sitting on Bokuto’s reading lamp, which shouldn’t even be _on_ , first of all, very deceptively immobile, as if it is an innocent insect that has somehow found its way into a human’s room and not the beacon of evil that it actually is. Tetsurou glances helplessly at the window— at the window that _Bokuto_ left open, like, _fine_ , it’s spring and it smells nice and neither of them has hay fever, more power to them— and in that moment he experiences what he will (he _knows_ he will) refer to even years later as the most important eureka moment he’s ever had in his life.

Abandoning the terrifying sight of the wasp on Bokuto’s lamp, Tetsurou edges towards the open window, grasps the sill, and hangs half-outside.

‘ANYONE DOWNSTAIRS?’ he hollers.

There is, of course, no reply. This is the third-years’ block, and anyone in possession of half a brain has gone out into the city with Bokuto.

Tetsurou makes another whimper-like sound and slumps, arms hanging helplessly— and hazardously— outside, trailing against the outer wall of the building. The night is beautiful; he can hear crickets chirping at a respectable distance that is not harmful to the human psyche, the stars are probably out, he can hear the fourth Naruto opening playing from the second-years’ common room, and some nerd is staring at him from the fourth-floor window across the basketball court.

Wait. Some nerd is staring at him from the fourth-floor window across the basketball court.

Tetsurou slowly, slowly raises himself up from his despair and his position, conks his head against the window frame, and clears his throat.

‘OPEN YOUR WINDOW,’ he says, motioning wildly with his arms.

The nerd squints at him, then shakes his head and looks back down at what is presumably a textbook. Tetsurou blinks, looks back at the wasp that is _still_ sitting on the lamp, groans in a pitch he didn’t know his voice box could reach, and racks his brain.

He doesn’t know if wasps can hear or not, so he takes extra care when opening his desk drawer, just to be sure. Not that he knows whether wasps get annoyed by noise, either, but still. The marker is already outside since he'd drawn a moustache on a sleeping Bokuto just earlier this afternoon (which, maybe he had the whole wasp thing coming, in retrospect). Tetsurou makes a third of the whimper-sounds and uncaps the marker, gets to work.

A minute later, he holds up his handicraft to the window, waving it a little to get the nerd's attention.

 _HELP ME_ , the paper he's holding up says. _THERE IS A WASP IN MY ROOM AND I AM DYING_.

The nerd stares blankly in his direction, then rummages around his desk and fishes out a pair of glasses, putting them on. He squints for a very, very long period of time, before uncapping a marker of his own.

 _Your handwriting is too small. Please write that again_.

'I'm really going to die,' Tetsurou says serenely, then not-so-serenely as the buzzing starts up again. 'FUCK.'

 _H E L P M E . W A S P I N R O O M_ .

The nerd squints again, for an even longer period of time, and honestly Tetsurou's convinced that he's doing it on purpose at this point. Fine, there's a decent distance between their blocks, but then again, if this guy would just _open his window_ —

_Never mind, you just have terrible handwriting. On my way._

Tetsurou lowers his sign and blinks dumbly at the nerd before sending his best glare in his direction. He doesn't know if it translates well across the distance between them, but he sure hopes it does. Tetsurou has a good glare. It's one of his few skills, along with haircare and differential equations. (Both of which are more than he can say for _Bokuto_.)

The nerd raises his eyebrow as if to say _do you want me to help you or not_ , in response to which Tetsurou quickly calms the hell down and tries a sheepish smile. He is _not_ dying by wasp, not today.

☼☼☼

Now, maybe about ten years down the line, Tetsurou and this nerd will get married, and everyone will cry and Bokuto will try to take credit for the whole thing since he was the one who opened the window and left the wasp in. And maybe before that, about five years down the line, Tetsurou will realise what he had _actually_ realised about _three_ years down the line, that he's never been so grateful for the existence of wasps because he's pretty sure there's no one other than this nerd for him.

But all that's for later, because currently he's neither thinking about marriage nor about Bokuto and not even really about wasps. All he's thinking about is how glad he is that there are some people who just don't really give a crap about bugs. Because this nerd is one of them, given how unimpressed he looks standing in Tetsurou's doorway, armed with nothing but a dish towel, his glasses, and the pen tucked behind his ear.

'Tsukishima Kei,' he says flatly, then squints over Kuroo's shoulder. 'That's a bumblebee, you idiot.'

☼☼☼

**To:** Kozume Kenma

 **Subject:** Third week's the charm?

Kenma,

On a stupidity scale of one to ten, I will rate Oikawa Tooru at about seventeen point three. That is to say, I hate talking in clichés but that man might just be some kind of genius. The funny thing is that I don't have any particular incident to report to you that would justify this opinion I have of him; it's more like his general way of being is so obnoxious, audacious, and shameless (yes, those are almost synonyms but I need to bring every possible nuance of the concept into play here) that you just have to wonder. You can only see him separating his eyelashes with safety pins so many times in a row before telling yourself, _maybe he's on to something. Maybe it's Oikawa Tooru's world and we're all just living in it._

This is also, I presume, the reason he's been in charge of the third-year dorms since...well, I don't know when he joined or where he came from or where he plans to go, he's just that kind of mystical immortal being, you know? But anyway, he looks about twenty-eight, twenty-nine. So he could've been here for at least five years. Anyway, I'm assuming the reason he's the one who's in charge of the third-year dorms is because he's the only one who can not only handle anything and everything third-years could think up in their uncooked-ramen brains, but also _anticipate_ the kind of bullshit they'll come up with next. Oikawa Tooru would've seen KAWAII.png coming. I'm guessing.

My resident advisorly duties have been limited to the first-year dorms like I told you over the phone the other day. Shimizu Kiyoko is in charge of the girls' wing, which is just fine with me because _she_ is a certified genius. One of those stable types that all of us could learn a little from around here, as it seems. I don't get much trouble from the kids; they're mostly getting to know each other and a little sad about leaving their parents, which, while bittersweet, is objectively good for discipline. I try to be nice to them. Reminds me of our years here.

Now, the real problem is Bokuto Koutarou. Now see, _Bokuto,_ who could be best described as a walking collection of incomplete knock-knock jokes, apparently has his eyes set on the new teaching assistant. In case you haven't had your morning coffee yet and find yourself incapable of doing the math, that is MOI. I don't think he's quite understood the concept of me being ten years older than him and hence not only utterly disinterested, but also legally prohibited from, reciprocating his "love". Which, by the way, consists of— and I shit you not with this, Kenma— bringing me a flower every morning. Where does the flower come from? I don't know. What kind of flower is it? I don't know. How does he find me no matter where I am, including: on the volleyball court, in the third stall of the cafeteria toilets, on all fours in the school bus looking for a cellphone charm that Yachi Hitoka dropped behind the last seat that was Very Important To Her? I don't fucking know. I also don't know why the hell I found, under that last seat, not only Yachi Hitoka's Hello Kitty cell phone charm, but also: four blades of fresh-plucked wheatgrass, a menu for a fast-food chain that I believe is exclusive to the American Midwest, a French translation of _The Communist Manifesto,_ and a jar of bees.

(Fine. The bees thing isn't real. BUT DOES IT NEED TO BE? IS THE REST NOT ENOUGH?)

Anyway, sinister things go on at this school. We were so much better. And they didn't let us grow out our hair.

Best,

Keiji

☼☼☼

‘I don’t think you understand the words I am saying to you, Tetsu,’ Bokuto says, while Tetsurou chews calmly on his rice. ‘I am _in love with this man_.’

‘No, no, I get that,’ Tetsurou replies. ‘Like, he’s handsome and very soft-spoken and stuff.’

‘Isn’t he like fifty?’ Iwatobi chimes in. ‘Can’t you trick him into taking a selfie with you? Just be like, _this is a…an internet_.’

  
Tsukishima Kei, Tetsurou has noticed since fifteen minutes ago when he first walked in, grabbed his tray and queued up and took his lunch and sat down, is a very quiet boy. Not in the shy way or anything, more like he doesn’t want to waste his energy speaking unnecessarily, which is a lot more than could be said for the weird little redhead next to him, who is talking up a storm with some girl. No, Tsukishima Kei has been silently and efficiently eating his food since ten minutes ago, pausing only to turn the page on whatever book he’s reading. It doesn’t look like a textbook; the cover’s too colourful. But Tetsurou can’t really make out what it is from all the way here where the Cool Third-Years sit. (Not that there are any third-years that _aren’t_ cool. There’s a grand total of thirty of them so it’s kind of difficult to have cliques.)

Well, that means there’s only one thing to be done. And Tetsurou’s always been a very proactive sort of human being, so he doesn’t hesitate for more than three and a half seconds (of which to be honest two and a half were just him wiggling his foot to make sure it hasn’t fallen asleep) before pushing his chair back, picking his (heavy) tray up and turning away from the table.

‘Later, losers,’ he says. ‘I’m going to go make a new friend.’

(Now, to be perfectly fair, Tetsurou very much had the opportunity to make his new friend _last night_ , when said potential new friend saved his ass from certain death ( _even_ if it was a bumblebee, okay, there’s _no way_ to confidently say that the bumblebee wouldn’t have flown into his ear). And to be more than perfectly fair, he _would_ have taken that opportunity if it had lasted for more than, like, ten seconds, which is the time Tetsurou’s singular brain cell takes to come up with one coherent thought. Alas, the window to go _hey, we should hang out or something_ or _let me buy you a milkshake as thanks_ or even _pro-tip, never go into the third toilet stall in the volleyball court washrooms_ , was genuinely only ten seconds, the time between Tsukishima gently shooing the bumblebee out the window and closing it, and him leaving Tetsurou’s room with a wave of the dishcloth and a _see you around_.

Tetsurou had, as one would in such a situation, stood there in the middle of the room blinking at the door for quite some time, before shrugging and sitting back down at his desk. _Your Name_ wasn’t going to watch itself.)

To the credit of his loyalty to his book, Tsukishima doesn’t even look up when Tetsurou settles down beside him. In fact, he continues eating for a good minute or so while Tetsurou attempts to come up with something witty to break the ice.

‘Hi,’ he says, finally. ‘My name’s Kuroo.’

And— Tetsurou can safely say he’s never experienced embarrassment of _this_ degree even _once_ in his life, and that’s saying something when you’re Bokuto Koutarou’s best friend. Because, as his (singular) brain cell realises with rising horror, Tsukishima isn’t _unaware_ of who’s sitting beside him. He’s perfectly aware and _just not interested_ , unlike his classmates who are all staring at the Cool Third-Year who has decided to grace their presence.

No, Tsukishima _still_ doesn’t look up. Calmly turns a page and goes, ‘I know.’

‘Huh,’ Tetsurou says, after a long, long pause. ‘Well. Just wanted to make sure. That you knew.’

‘Well, I do know.’

‘Okay.’

‘Okay.’

Puzzled and bewildered and a little scared, Tetsurou miserably returns to his rice, which is still blissfully warm. There is now utter silence, at least around them. (He’s not sure Bokuto’s done monologuing about Acai Berry the new teaching assistant just yet, which would account for the voices still in full discussion on the other end of the cafeteria.) Just the sound of the equally puzzled and bewildered and a-little-scared first-years eating their food, Tetsurou’s chopsticks against his bowl, and the crisp sound of Tsukishima turning the page of the book Tetsurou now doesn’t even dare to ask him about.

Near the end, Tsukishima speaks again.

‘I’m in the light management team for the Summerfest,’ he says, at which point Tetsurou suddenly remembers the existence of Summerfest. ‘I heard you guys are going to a dance with Heelys.’

‘We are?’ Tetsurou squeaks. ‘I mean. Yeah. We are. Probably Bokuto’s idea.’

‘Yeah. Good luck.’

☼☼☼

‘Dude, what _happened_ ,’ Bokuto asks gently, when Tetsurou settles back down next to him. ‘It looks like you got murdered.’

‘Yeah,’ Tetsurou replies. ‘But I think we’re sort of friends now.’

They look over the distance between the third-year and first-year tables together, squinting in brotherly unison. Tsukishima, not having looked up a single time during the whole thing, continues reading.

‘Is that a dictionary?’ Bokuto says, finally. ‘Dude, it’s totally a dictionary.’

☼☼☼

It _was_ , in fact, a dictionary. This Tetsurou is able to confirm only a few days later, but a confirmation it is, because Tsukishima is still reading the same doggone dictionary when Tetsurou comes across him in the library during the weekend. Now first of all, in Tetsurou’s defence, he’d rather be doing _anything_ other than be walking through the library trying to find the only remaining copy of that one calculus textbook everyone claims to be the Bible itself, but with Summerfest preparations going on in full force he’s usually too tired— from all the Heelying, _thanks_ , Bokuto— to get his studying done once they’re back to the dorms. No, this is the first weekend of many that he’ll spend silently crying over differential equations at a back table.

Or not. Given that he has just spotted Tsukishima Kei at _his_ spot in the library, flipping through what is most certainly the same dictionary that he was flipping through a few days ago. (The dictionary that he favoured over Tetsurou’s fun and fantastic presence. Funtastic, some might say.)

Swallowing his pride— and a couple of apprehensive calculus tears— Tetsurou, once again, settles down next to Tsukishima Kei. This time, he takes advantage of the fact that Tsukishima apparently doesn’t give a shit about his existence as long as he is not getting in the way (a theory to be tested; Tetsurou files it away for later) and turns to his side to engage in blatant observation of his face.

Now see, Tetsurou is a man of many regrets. It’s just one of those things you accept as part of the package that comes with being Bokuto Koutarou’s best friend. Tetsurou, yes, has a great many regrets in his life. He regrets, for example, that he cannot cut his hair short despite it being the only thing about him that’s worse than his personality. Why can’t Tetsurou cut his hair if it’s so very awful, one might ask? And behold the answer to that is Bokuto Koutarou, who struck up a bet with him in the middle of first year when the school announced something about being more Hairstyle Friendly from now onwards. The bet, which was the first of many equally stupid bets to come over the years of Tetsurou’s suffering, was simple: if Tetsurou didn’t cut his hair during their time in high school, Bokuto would not only bleach his own, but also bleach his _eyebrows_. And Tetsurou, blithering and incapable of long-term thought like any other fifteen-year-old at the time would be, happily accepted.

All this to say that not even the regret that Tetsurou feels two years later at making that bet— which doesn’t even have _stakes_ — can compare to the regret he feels currently, at having decided to observe Tsukishima Kei’s face. Why, one might ask again. And behold the answer to that is that Tsukishima Kei is very, very, very cute.

First of all his glasses are a little too big for his face _and_ the stem of his nose, which makes them slip lower every thirty seconds, which in turn makes Tsukishima make this adorable little huffing noise while pushing them back up. That’s problem number one. Problem number two is that he clearly has access to some form of bleach and dye that is ten times superior to Bokuto’s, because despite the very light tone of his hair, it looks impossibly…soft. And not fried at all. Not that Tetsurou would mind if it _was_ fried, and that’s problem number three: Tsukishima’s whole _face_ in general is very cute. His big brown eyes and the way he mouths along with the words that he’s reading, and also the fact that his cheeks are getting steadily redder as he realises that Tetsurou is outright staring at him.

‘What,’ Tsukishima says testily.

‘I like your face,’ Tetsurou announces. ‘Also, why are you reading a dictionary? Do you have like, a photographic memory? Like are you just speed-learning the words?’

Tsukishima sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, pushes his glasses up, and closes the dictionary. Finally he turns to face Tetsurou.

‘It’s called an eidetic memory, first of all,’ he says. ‘And no, I don’t have one. I just like to learn new words. I mark the ones I like and memorise them later.’

‘Incredible.’ Tetsurou turns to his own textbook and glares down at it, then opens it up. ‘Sorry for disturbing you. I’m going to study too, now.’

‘Good luck. I was just going anyway.’

Which, well, Tetsurou hadn’t planned on running into him in the first place so he should _not_ be as disappointed as he is, but he is only human, and he really does want to be Tsukishima’s friend. But as he reflects on all these pure, slice-of-life anime thoughts, Tsukishima’s already gathering up his stuff and turning to leave.

‘By the way,’ he says, then, and Tetsurou perks up. ‘You’re welcome for the bumblebee. And…thanks for liking my face.’

‘You’re welcome!’ Tetsurou replies. Hope seizes his feeble young heart. ‘Do you like my face too?’

Tsukishima seems to seriously consider it for a moment, and looks Tetsurou up and down so slowly that Tetsurou’s praying to every deity that exists to make him disintegrate into ashes right there. Alas, no one seems to be listening, and Tsukishima ends his observation with a small secret smile, looking right into Tetsurou’s eyes.

‘I could do without the hair,’ he says, and promptly leaves.

Tetsurou gapes.

Tetsurou gapes, a little more.

Some more.

Then:

‘Men have gone to war for less,’ he says darkly, and turns back to his textbook. ‘Men have gone to war for less.’

☼☼☼

‘Akaashi-san,’ Tsukishima says for the fifth time that morning. ‘He’s doing it again.’

Acai Berry looks up from his notes and sighs, levels a dead gaze at Tetsurou. ‘Kuroo, I really must ask you to stop chasing Tsukishima’s cursor around the spreadsheet.’

‘I’m not doing _anything_ ,’ Tetsurou says, even as cell L3B5, which was previously outlined in the pink of Tsukishima’s profile, turns dark blue.

☼☼☼

‘Akaashi-san,’ Tsukishima says. ‘He gave me all his grapes.’

‘While unexpected food can be annoying, you have the choice not to eat them, Tsukishima.’

Tetsurou grins widely at Tsukishima, then slides a single French fry over.

 _I looove you_ , he mouths.

☼☼☼

‘AKAASHI-SAN, HE CALLED ME ALEXANDER.’

‘This is Oikawa,’ Oikawa says. ‘Alexander is a fine name.’

☼☼☼

‘I will _kill_ you,’ Tsukishima hisses. ‘Do you know how cute you have the potential of being if you wouldn’t be so _annoying_?’

Tetsurou actually stops meticulously and irreversibly tying Tsukishima’s shoes to each other at that, and looks up at the beautiful sight of him all sweaty and angry and staring down at him with the court lights like a halo around his head. What now?

‘What now?’ Tetsurou says. ‘Did I hear you say that I am possibly cute? As in, you like my face?’

‘It’s too late now,’ Tsukishima replies coldly. ‘You’ve lost your chance of me ever having even the tiniest possible crush on you. Maybe if you actually remembered my name—‘

‘I DO REMEMBER YOUR NAME,’ Tetsurou says. ‘TSUKISHIMA. TSUKKI. THERE.’

Tsukishima glares down at him for another few seconds, then rolls his eyes. ‘Whatever. Just know that you’re much more fun to be with when you’re not making a deliberate effort to get on my ass. Call me if you ever want to stop being stupid.’

‘Wait,’ Tetsurou says, even as Tsukishima walks away ( _in just his socks_ , the man knows how to make a point) without looking back even once. ‘WAIT! I DON’T HAVE YOUR NUMBER!’

‘Then keep a lookout for the window across from yours.’

☼☼☼

**To:** Kozume Kenma

 **Subject:** Maybe KAWAII.png 2.0 was the real April’s fool all along

Kenma,

Some kid came into Takeda-san’s office and tried to explain what he was sent there for through interpretive dance, so Summerfest preparations are well underway. I have to give some credit to the teachers _and_ the students; it only took a month into the term for them to get their collective shit together and actually start with everything, practices and all. Most astounding is the sheer enthusiasm of the third-years, who, back in our times, only wanted to steal cigarettes from the RA’s and act cool on the football field. (I mean, not that you and I did that. We were too cool for cool. Too cool for school. Whichever it is.)

Anyway, the third-years are incredibly enthusiastic about the whole thing. Who knew high-schoolers were actually capable, under extremely precise and sufficiently exciting circumstances, of being _fond_ of their educational establishment? Not me, that’s for sure, and certainly not Sawamura’s anarchist ass. That being said, I do suspect that _some_ of the third-years may have…how should I put this, _extracurricular_ motivations towards the work they’re putting in for Summerfest.

Before I get into that, let me explain what Summerfest actually is, real quick, since we didn’t have this kind of feel-good trophy-children shit back in our glory days. Basically, it’s a two-day long festival of sorts where kids display their various talents. We’ve got everything from bake sales to dance performances (in HEELYS, Kenma, I cannot believe that 1) Takeda-san even passed this idea, and 2) he passed it knowing that it’s BOKUTO KOUTAROU’S IDEA) and everything in between. The first-years are mostly in administrative duties since they don’t really know each other well enough to put up an actual gig, so I count myself lucky that I’m working with them for the most part. They’re mostly sensible kids, with the exception of this one redhead called Hinata. But don’t let me get into that.

Now, I’m primarily concerned about two third-years in particular, and no points for guessing: it’s KAWAII.png and KAWAII.png 2.0, because who the fuck else would it be? Now see, as sad as it is to be writing this sentence, it’s old news that Bokuto Koutarou has a misguided yet passionate crush on yours truly, so it doesn’t _really_ surprise me that he’s giving this Summerfest shit his all. Heelying all over the place and getting me lemonade that I didn’t ask for, calling me “teach” and stuff. He even said _yo_ to me yesterday. Like, "yo."

No, the problem is Kuroo Tetsurou, who seems to have set _his_ sight on one Tsukishima Kei. Now you know I’m a professional, Kenma, and I don’t relay workplace gossip around, so I’m so incredibly glad to have someone like you to confide in. Anyway, remember how I loved playing matchmaker back in middle school and everything? I can’t believe how much fun it still is. I mean, if Kuroo and Tsukishima were in the same class, I’d make them sit together all the time. I’m pretty sure Oikawa would make them waltz up front for no fucking reason, because that’s just the kind of man Oikawa is.

Anyway. Actually, the problem isn’t so much Kuroo’s crush on Tsukishima (though don’t get me wrong, that _is_ problematic. He gets _Tsukishima_ lemonade without being asked, and stares at him with these dreamy eyes with his chin propped up on his hands like he’s in kindergarten, all in plain sight without the slightest intention of hiding any of it from Tsukishima— and as unfortunate as it is, Tsukishima’s been delegated spotlight duty for the third-years’ ridiculous Heelys performance. By unfortunate I mean delicious, but I’m trying to relate here.) as it is the fact that Kuroo is a very annoying person, and hence makes anything and everything he does annoying, including having a crush or talking to people. He is incapable of remembering anyone’s names properly apart from Bokuto’s, and keeps calling things that they’re not actually called. He calls brave man Iwaizumi Hajime _Iwatobi Swim Club_. I think the worst is yesterday when he was like, wait I need a linebreak for this

Kuroo: Where’s Iwatobi Swim Club—

Iwaizumi, walking in at that precise moment: IWAIZUMI HAJIME

“There you are! Iwatobi-chan—“

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa corrects unhelpfully.

“IWAIZUMI HAJIME,” he says, “IS MY NAME,”

Anyway, you get the gist. All this to say that the other day he called Tsukishima Alexander. Like, Tsukishima was walking by with a clipboard and everything (he really likes being useful) and Kuroo was like, hey Alexander can you throw me that volleyball real quick.

ALEXANDER.

As you can see, the real problem is how Tsukishima is ever going to reciprocate Kuroo’s juvenile feelings if Kuroo can’t even get the ETHNICITY of his name right. Will keep you posted on all developments, and my word after the Great Asahi-Nishinoya Fiasco of 2010, that I shall not intervene, not once.

Best,

Akaashi

☼☼☼

Now, all of a sudden as it tends to in cases such as this one (thinks Tetsurou wistfully, while also being aware that he has never seriously engaged in romantic pursuit or any pursuit that is not _give me my Gameboy BACK_ ) there's a fantastic moment when he and Tsukishima accidentally slip into friendship, after all. Tetsurou's more or less given up on the idea of Tsukishima ever having a crush on him after all, and finds himself relatively okay with the concept. You know, that whole thing about how you could be the world's best, sweetest, juiciest orange and there will still be someone in the world who just doesn't like oranges. It's like that, except if the orange was Tetsurou and then the person who doesn't like the Tetsurou's of the world was Tsukishima. Then again, that kind of implies that there's more than one Tetsurou in this world. A type of human being, almost, which would be categorised as Tetsurou. He's not sure if that's correct. In fact, it might not be a particular type of human being that Tsukishima doesn't like. It probably has more to do with the fact that he's _really fucking irritating,_ as Bokuto puts it fondly.

Now that he thinks about it, actually, it has to be that. Not the Tetsurou's of the world, as it were, but rather a certain aspect that is common among all of them. The annoyingness, that is.

Anyway. Tetsurou's point is that at some point, despite all of these factors uniting and conspiring to keep them apart _Romeo and Juliet_ style (but the Leonardo DiCaprio version) there comes a moment when they suddenly become friends. It's so sudden that he should be able to pinpoint it, and yet somehow he can't, not down to the very second, at least. All he knows is that it's during rehearsal one fresh Saturday morning, everyone hyped up from breakfast and looking forward to the Fortnite tournament in the third year common room at the end of the day. Tetsurou's lacing his Heelys up and wondering, as he does _every single time_ he puts these fucking shoes on, how the hell the school could allow them to perform in these. In their collective defence (and it has to be a collective defence; the third years are cool but Tetsurou doesn't know a single one of them who isn't an agent of evil, especially in _Heelys_ ) no one's dead yet, so.

Anyway. Tetsurou's lacing up his Heelys when he hears the uniquely infuriating sound of Tsukishima incessantly clicking his ballpoint pen (come to think of it, their roles might just be reversed; Tsukishima's _way_ more of an orange than Tetsurou). So, okay, he can at least remember the _start_ of the moment— it's with that dumbass clicking that Tsukishima announces his presence, and settles down on the chair next to Tetsurou's, headphones in and gaze superglued to that clipboard of his. Tetsurou sees lists of invitees and some sort of roll call, even what looks like...lots of cross-multiplication. Whatever.

What's more interesting is what happens next— Tsukishima isn't, like a lot of the time, completely oblivious to his surroundings. He seems to be perfectly _aware_ that he's settled down next to Tetsurou, just like that first time at the cafeteria. And it's _just as_ Tetsurou's mentally debating whether to take hideous advantage of this opportunity to needle the shit out of Tsukishima, that said living orange actually takes his headphones off and hooks them around his neck, leans into Tetsurou, and says some words which are lost in the roaring currently filling his ears at the realisation of how much Tsukishima smells like pancakes and berries.

'What?' Tetsurou says politely. 'I didn't hear a _word_ of what you just said.'

He can _hear_ Tsukishima rolling his eyes. 'I said, have you guys decided whether you're making an entry onto the stage or want to be positioned already? I need to—'

Well, now that he thinks about it properly (which is rich given that he's been reliving this moment nonstop since it happened and must hence be on his fortieth rerun of the whole thing, from different camera angles, changing day to night, giving Tsukishima's twelfth version a perm and a tongue piercing, giving his own twenty-fifth version normal hair, and other such details) he supposes that it was in that exact moment that Tsukishima just decided to...drop it.

It's been a week. Suddenly they're eating together every day at dinner, and suddenly Tsukishima's started picking the grapes out of Tetsurou's fruit bowl without asking. Tetsurou's in-app advertisements start mysteriously talking about bee-saving campaigns and— under the wrong impression that he's a rich adult— nearby hotels with private jacuzzis.

'Do you know why Crocs have holes in them?' Bokuto asks him one day out of nowhere.

'...' Tetsurou replies.

'So that your dignity can drain through easily,' Bokuto says sagely. 'Make of that what you will, I won't spoon-feed you the answer. You _are_ a singular Croc. The dignity is your dignity. Tsukishima—'

'I thought you weren't going to spoon-feed me the answer.'

'I had second thoughts. You're a very dense Croc.'

☼☼☼

Actually, there's another one. Another moment, Tetsurou means to say. It's not exactly moment, though. More like— well, what _could've_ been one if Tetsurou had kept his eyes peeled instead of going the fuck to bed the moment he got back to his dorms every night.

No, he's _definitely_ missed the moment. But Tsukishima's super nice like that, as it turns out, because God only knows how long it's been since he told Tetsurou to keep a lookout for the window, which Tetsurou _totally_ hasn't done, and yet—

It's still there. A large enough paper that literally everyone in the third years' building must be aware of it by now, and yet none of those suckers thought to bring _Tetsurou's_ attention to it.

 _Here's my number, dumbass,_ it says.

Tetsurou makes some kind of high-pitched sound, whirls twice on the spot, stubs his toe on his chair on the way, then settles into the chair and kicks off from the table and rolls all the way to Bokuto's bed, then kicks off from Bokuto's bed and slams back into the table, then grabs his hair and tugs at it, then makes the high-pitched sound again, and finally pulls out his phone.

☼☼☼

**To:** Kozume Kenma

 **Subject:** Very tired

Kenma,

I don't know what it was, nor do I care to know. I just want _you_ to know that I've always assumed that high-schoolers are stupid, but I never, ever thought that they could be _this_ stupid. This is a whole new level. I should be asking for a monthly supply of ibuprofen with this job. I'm pretty sure I'm qualified for pension. I despise teenagers.

Well, I think I _do_ kind of know where this came from. See, this morning, news spread that Bokuto Koutarou had somehow acquired an eight-pack (that is to say, one entire kilogram) of Skittles. I suppose that's where it all started.

Anyway, I don't know what brought it about. What I _do_ know is that Kuroo is not only pure evil, but is also one of the smarter kids out there in this batch of nonsense goblins, and I imagine that he orchestrated this entire thing with great foresight and contemplation. I don't know how far back it dates, but I know that it had to be cold and premeditated. That's just how Kuroo does things, and also exactly how it went down according to the account he gave me once I called him into the staff room to explain why Tsukishima was, well, in a MOOD.

I just know that he woke up one Thursday morning with one unique, sole objective: to arrange his buttocks upon Tsukishima Kei's shoulders. And this is how he did it.

So, he explained to me, his plan for it was in three parts:

  1. Bokuto Koutarou
  2. Tsukishima Kei 
  3. Iwaizumi Hajime (or "Iwatobi swim club", as Kuroo fondly refers to him)



Now, for the first part of the plan, it was relatively simple. (As we have established, Kenma, Bokuto is a simple man.) Apparently, all Kuroo had to do was walk up to him and say, "I bet you the eight pack of Skittles that I can sit on Tsukki's shoulders by the end of the day."

Bokuto went, and I quote Kuroo, "IT'S FUCKING ON."

The second part of the plan, of course, was slightly more complicated than establishing a dumbass bet with the equally, if not more, dumbass Bokuto Koutarou. This was Tsukishima Kei we were dealing with, and of course it was a delicate matter. However, given that Kuroo has clearly sold his soul to Satan at some undefined point in his childhood, he managed to moonwalk his way through the negotiation as if he were talking to a hopped up Tendou and convincing him that trying to make blue okonomiyaki was not only possible, but a fantastic option.

Anyway.

"Good morning, Tsukki," said Kuroo, supposedly with a distinct air of politeness.

"No."

"I just said—"

"No, you have a look on your face. Not today. Just no." (Note: I, too, feel like this a number of days when I see Kuroo and Bokuto. Also Oikawa, even though he's ten years older than them.)

"But—"

"No."

"Look," Kuroo supposedly said, then. "I just wanted to propose a fun bet. A wager, if you'd like. Hardly a gamble, with your intelligence."

"...I'm listening," said the very stupid Tsukishima Kei, whose impression in my eyes has forever reached underground levels.

"Okay, so Bokuto told me about a bet he made in my name this morning. He told Tanaka that he's sure I can convince you to let me sit on your shoulders by the end of today—"

"Impossible."

"First of all, exactly. But also, even if I _did_ manage to get you to do that, I wouldn't even get anything! Bokuto's the only winner. So, just— I'm going to pretend that I did my best, but that you refused, okay? I don't want that stinky bastard to win."

"You two sure have a lot of free time on your hands, but fear not. It'll be a _day_ when I let you sit on my shoulders."

"Perfect, you're swell, Tsukki!"

"Right. And what about _our_ bet?"

"Oh, right, that one's simple. I bet that at some point today, Bokuto will no longer be in possession of his bag of Skittles."

(Note: Yes, Kenma, I know. I know. I _told_ you, I've never encountered a group of people this stupid in my entire existence.)

"And why the hell would I bet on that?"

"Because I bet Iwatobi swim club that I'd bet you that Bokuto would have his Skittles stolen, and if I win that _he'll_ give me Skittles, and I can share half of them with you? We don't even have to worry about whether Bokuto has his Skittles or not. We just have to make the _bet._ "

"..."

Now, Kenma, let me explain. From what I've observed in my month or two here, Tsukishima Kei usually operates on very few basic beliefs. But among the top, unfortunately, are the assumption that people don't lie, and also the assumption that Kuroo Tetsurou is a fucking idiot. As an ill-fated combination of the two, he promptly believed Kuroo.

"And what are the stakes for _us_? You know, just for formality's sake?"

"You win, I stay out of your hair for an entire week," Kuroo lied promptly and proudly. "You lose, you go on a date with me next weekend when we're allowed to go out."

And it was thus, so simply, Kenma, that The Tsukishima got trapped in Kuroo's evil plan. Once this had been accomplished, his path was simple and yet depended dangerously on one single factor: Iwaizumi Hajime. GOD I ALMOST TYPED IWATOBI SWIM CLUB, I NEED TO GET OUT OF THIS SCHOOL.

Anyway, Kuroo then approached Iwaizumi.

"Can you do me a favour, dude?"   
  
"Maybe."

"I bet Bokuto that I could piss Tsukki off at practice today, and I need to win it."

"And?"   
  
"Nothing, I just need you to borrow that eight pack of Skittles from Bokuto and walk in front of Tsukki." (Kenma, this boy should apply for a political sciences major. I know a guy at ToDai, I'm going to ask him to send me the program details.)

"Nothing else?" asked the innocent Iwaizumi.

"Nope."

Now, the moment of execution— and the moment I was very, _very_ unfortunately there to witness with my own two eyes. At gym this afternoon (I'm going to submit a request that the first-years no longer have Summerfest rehearsals with the third-years), Kuroo put his plan into action, and Iwaizumi walked up to Bokuto.

Bokuto, being of the category of people that adore Iwaizumi (i.e. most people) did not hesitate to provide the aforementioned eight pack of Skittles, pausing only briefly— Kuroo speculates— to think that it's strange that Iwaizumi is asking for an item that he'd discussed with Kuroo before.

Iwaizumi, being of the category of people who do not give a shit (not all people) waited for the first-years to bound in in their ratty little T-shirts and muddy trainers, before walking past Tsukishima as asked.

"Are you on your way to give those to Kuroo?" Tsukishima asked, falling spectacularly for the bait. (At this precise moment, I was by one of the basketball hoops, speaking with Yamaguchi about what I believe was mini-golf. I could hear perfectly.)

"?" said Iwaizumi.

"You know," said Tsukishima patiently. "The bet."

"What bet?" Iwaizumi said, after opening and closing his mouth rapidly, much like a goldfish. (I understand now that his brain was desperately trying to do the math and wondering why Tsukishima was aware of a conspiracy to piss him off.) "I took these from Bokuto because Kuroo told me to do it."

In that instance, I unknowingly witnessed what was Tsukishima having a moment of clarity. So Kuroo _was_ aware that Bokuto would be in possession of Skittles today, and set it up to devoid him of said Skittles merely to score a date. A _date,_ where all he would do is act like a living, breathing disaster and probably get juice down Tsukishima's shirt. It _wasn't_ a formality, after all, calculated Tsukishima's brain which was suddenly attempting to make up for the impromptu vacation it had taken earlier in the day.

In that moment, Tsukishima Kei saw red. Iwaizumi, being the perceptive human being he is, noticed and said, "You know, Kuroo will win the bet he made with Bokuto about pissing you off, if you let him see this."

Tsukishima Kei saw a very _interesting_ shade of red.

Remember how at the start of term I was complaining about Kuroo's hair? Well, today I'm not, because I'm positive it prevented a murder. The amount of gel he dumps into that rat's nest was probably the only thing capable of dulling the impact of the volleyball Tsukishima sent his way, just barely enough to save his life.

"YOU!" (At this point, I was already rolling my sleeves up, ready to separate the two if needed.)  
  
"Who, me?"

Bokuto, being of the category of people who are clueless, proceeded to ask what the fuck was up.

"YOU LOST ONE BET," Tsukishima said valiantly, "BUT YOU WILL NOT LOSE ANOTHER, BOKUTO-SAN. NOT WHILE THERE IS A BREATH IN MY BODY."

"What—"

"YOU," Tsukishima said, turning to Kuroo (while I rolled my sleeves up faster and more stressfully). "GET OVER HERE."

And that, Kenma, is how everyone in the gymnasium found themselves standing in a gymnasium watching Tsukishima Kei go down on his knees and declare "I am thoroughly convinced to let you sit on my shoulders, so DO IT RIGHT NOW."

In his mind, I assume in retrospect, was the simplistic idea that he would get to watch Kuroo's utter humiliation upon having to meow for the rest of the day, and the distinct absence of the idea that Kuroo could have lied about that particular bet as well. And so, it was with a certain amount of satisfaction and glee that Tsukishima lifted Kuroo up, SAT HIM ON HIS SHOULDERS, and turned to a stunned Bokuto.

"You can thank me later," he said.

There was absolute silence for two minutes, Kenma. Two entire minutes. Silence. Absolute.

Then Kuroo goes, "Oi, Iwatobi. Throw me those Skittles, will you."

Best,

Akaashi

☼☼☼

The most typically high school thing about all of this is actually the fact that Tetsurou and Tsukishima have been officially forbidden from sitting next to each other since the Skittles Incident. While Tetsurou thinks that's absolutely wild and the most exciting thing that's happened to him in his academic, spiritual, and emotional career so far, Tsukishima's far from happy about it, which is, well, kind of ridiculous if you ask Tetsurou. This is like the high-school equivalent of him getting a restraining order, which is logically everything Tsukishima should want in life. But no, it's as if being _told_ by the authorities that he can't sit next to the great hate of his life _anyway,_ has somehow enraged him. _Now_ he wants to sit next to Tetsurou; Tetsurou knows it.

Which is why when their _you are free to go to the spring festival but no one come back with a dog bite again_ weekend finally rolls around; that is, when their _date_ weekend finally rolls around (a date that Tsukishima wasn't even obliged to acquiesce to given that Tetsurou had been a freewheeling piece of shit about the whole thing) and they're all sitting in the bus waiting to be taken to town, and Tsukishima _gets up and switches seats to sit next to Tetsurou,_ he can only be utterly, utterly delighted. It's the silly kind of excitement that you really only _can_ get when you're sitting next to your crush for a field trip. Like, years later, Tetsurou knows he'll still be using this as a metaphor or whatever. Crush on a field trip.

It doesn't help (well, it does help Tetsurou's cause) that Tsukishima's blushing wildly through the whole ordeal. Holding his bag to his chest and glaring at Tetsurou's knees until he shifts, awkwardly shuffling in to settle down by the window, the expression on his face nearly murderous by now. If Tetsurou didn't know better, he'd think Tsukishima was being _forced_ to do this. But he does. He does know better, and how.

'Hi,' Tetsurou says, grins widely.

'Shut up,' Tsukishima replies. 'Just shut up.'

Spring is cheating. The sunlight is glaring but their tinted window panes save them from the worst of it, and when Tsukishima cheats the air conditioning and cracks the window open just a little, it falls over his face in a perfect ruler-like shaft. Brings out just how light the shade of brown of his eyes really is, something more approaching amber than, like. Coffee. Soy sauce. Something really dark brown. It's the opposite of that; amber or honey or something even prettier. The point is, Tetsurou's looking too closely at Tsukishima's face (again) and this time Tsukishima doesn't even remotely seem to mind. In fact, all he does is put his headphones on and lean against the window, staring outside at the blooming green fields and painfully blue sky.

So Tetsurou puts his own earphones in and starts up some cheesy acoustic love song, and fires up 2048. He has records to break.

☼☼☼

Spring is cheating. It's stiflingly hot, exactly the kind of weather Tetsurou both hates and somehow thrives in. The thing about loving sports of all kinds is you get used to being tired and sweaty and dehydrated while really needing to pee all the time. A summer outing more often than not is a combination of all of those, and then some. And he can understand why most people aren't as fond of it as they could be, especially indoors kids like Tsukishima.

So he tries not to be disappointed when his offer to hold hands is coldly rejected. Well, not coldly, per se, but rejected all the same. Politely, kind of. Apologetically, even. But rejected.

'No offence, but I think we'll never be able to unstick them otherwise' are Tsukishima's exact words, actually, which Tetsurou accepts with grace. 'If you want I can hook my little finger in your bracelet.'

'That sounds fair,' Tetsurou says after a bit of consideration. 'Hook away.'

☼☼☼

Spring is cheating, it's stiflingly hot, and Tetsurou is thriving. He isn't as interested in the shaved ice as Bokuto is (well, he isn't as interested in _anything_ as Bokuto is; he's fully decked out in traditional wear complete with a fan whereas the rest of the student body, which is still capable of using its brain, is in shorts) and he isn't as interested in the second-hand book stall as Tsukishima is. He's interested in _everything,_ taking in brief details here and there; the laughter of the other students, random snippets of songs that are less _real festival_ and more _rock concert,_ the smell of sugarcane juice. He's interested in feeling bead bracelets and leather bracelets and thin fragile paper fans and little metal ornaments that he knows he'd either end up losing or Bokuto would end up swallowing.

Then he hears Tsukishima exclaim, and laugh, and looks up from the book he was staring at. Tsukishima's holding up a faded candy wrapper with a disproportionately delighted smile.

'Look,' he says. 'By the looks of it someone forgot it in here back in '85.'

'I remember '85,' Tetsurou says absently, while the rest of his mind goes into overdrive trying to figure out where to stash the immortal image of Tsukishima smiling with the spring-summer sun behind his head. 'Those were the good old days.'

'Oh, shut up.' But Tsukishima keeps smiling as he carefully places the makeshift bookmark back into the dip where the pages meet, and closes the book. He nods at the vendor and promises to be back during the second round, and starts to move forward to the next stall. 'Are you coming, or what?'

Tetsurou follows.

☼☼☼

At one point, to the sound of multiple cheers and Tsukishima's booing, Tetsurou manages to land a hit at a ring toss and ends up winning what is by far the tackiest seashell necklace he has ever seen in his life and probably ever will.

He offers it to Tsukishima with the most stoic face he can muster. 'As a memory of our first date.'

'As a memory of our _only_ date,' Tsukishima corrects, but he accepts the necklace, tucks it away into his pocket.

☼☼☼

Then the sun sets, and Tetsurou kind of— well, only a little bit— no, but really it's microscopic, okay— first of all this whole thing was meant to be a _crush._

Well, anyway the sun doesn't just _set_ like that; that'd be stupid. Really fucking stupid, like this whole dumbass idea in the first place. Like Tsukishima's face, and Bokuto's Skittles, and Iwaizumi's math homework. And like Tetsurou, most of all.

No, the sun doesn't just set like that with a snap of someone's fingers, because then where would be the fun in that? The real fun is in it starting to go down so slowly that he has at least a minute to appreciate every single coloured filter it provides for his view of Tsukishima's stupid, stupid face. Tetsurou has a minute's date with Tsukishima in buttery glowing yellow, and then a minute's date with warm orange. And then the orange turns purple as if someone sifted it through a fairy cloud, and Tsukishima closes his eyes against the gentle rose breath of a sudden breeze. And when he opens them again he's smiling— the 1980's candy wrapper smile, the _I had a good day_ smile.

Then the sun _does_ suddenly go down. When its last red strokes flare up suddenly against them both, Tetsurou looks at Tsukishima in a sort of dumbfounded silence that even he can't explain or joke away. Then Tetsurou knows, like a snap of the fingers, that this will never be just a crush.

☼☼☼

The ride back is sleepy-quiet. Those who aren't on their phones or snuggling up to their girlfriends or boyfriends (oh, and how Tetsurou isn't even mildly envious for once; they couldn't have, at least not in this exact moment, what he has) are dozing off or talking in soft murmurs within themselves.

For his part, Tetsurou's taken the window seat this time, leaning against the glass and staring outside into the mild blue dark so that he doesn't have to make conversation with anyone. If Tsukishima notices that he's acting weird, he doesn't let on; just plugs his headphones in and closes his eyes.

Tetsurou stares out at the blue dark, and wonders how he's going to hide this. From everyone, from Bokuto, but especially from Tsukishima. There are jokes gone too far, and then there's this; and Tetsurou might be a jerk sometimes but he'd do anything to keep Tsukishima's friendship.

A little voice tells him maybe he doesn't have to fight so hard or hide anything, that maybe Tsukishima will take it will and _not_ mock him forever. But he shuts that little voice down as fast as possible— because, see, because one hope could lead to another and he can't afford to sit here hoping that Tsukishima maybe, maybe, maybe likes him too.

So Tetsurou leans his head against the window and stares out into the dark and wishes Tsukishima's headphones weren't so good; wishes he could hear a hint of the kind of music he loves, wishes he could know if Tsukishima's listening to a love song. But he can't, so he assumes; and his conclusion is no.

☼☼☼

Unfortunately (or fortunately, Bokuto might say at their wedding during his whole _I let the wasp in so clearly I am to thank for all of this_ speech; if that speech ever comes to be, that is; because at this point Tetsurou isn't even confident about surviving the next five days until Summerfest, let alone the ten years it'll take until he's reached the day of his theoretical wedding to waspkiller Tsukishima Kei) for Tetsurou, his stoic and brave Real Unrequited Love (unlike Bokuto who is totally posing) gig only lasts about a day.

He passes Day 1 mooning and moping around the corridors, one Heely on and the other strapped to his hip for full effect. Staring blankly when called upon in class, sighing loudly when asked if he wants a pocky stick. Just passionate yet scorned lover things. He even manages to scroll through a couple of haikus on the whole topic before sleep takes him (what? He's scorned in love, not Captain America).

Then, on Day 2, the jig is up.

'What are you doing,' Tsukishima says flatly on Day 2 of his never-ending pain. 'Why are you acting all weird?'

'It's the full moon,' Tetsurou says. 'Brings out my feral side.'

'Shut up,' comes the expected reply, with the expected roll of Tsukishima's eyes. Tetsurou desperately tries not to focus on how the angle of his face makes his glasses magnify his lashes, particularly the one that's lying like a minuscule crescent moon on the very edge of his cheekbone. 'Just— if I did something the other day at the festival—'

'NO,' Tetsurou replies, too loud and too quick like just about every other thing he does in life. 'I mean, no. Definitely not. Uh, it's me. I'm the weird one. I told you. Full moon. Werewolf.'

Tsukishima stares at him for a long moment. His hair is a little flat from the headphones he must've had on while planning the day's schedule; there's a pen clipped to his collar and another one still paused on his clipboard like he's interviewing Tetsurou for delinquency or something. He's petulant and full of himself and a little idiosyncratic, and Tetsurou is _obsessed_ with that eyelash on his cheek, and none of this is going to end well. Tetsurou's never had a real _more than just a crush_ before. What is he supposed to do? Cry? Tell someone? What is this, love? Is this how his dad felt when he met his mom in high school? But— like, they're mom and dad. They're already _there._ How is Tetsurou ever going to be _there,_ and—

'So I have to take off,' he says cheerfully. 'I'll see you around, Tsukki.'

'Where are you going? Your practice is in ten minutes!'

'I'm going for a seven-and-a-half-minute jog. I will _see you around,_ Tsukki.'

☼☼☼

Nailed it.

☼☼☼

'You know, I'm always like, spraying my deodorant too fast and breathing it in too quick and shit,' he says to Bokuto that night. 'You know how I'm always like, hacking up my lungs in the morning.'

'I do know this,' Bokuto says.

'And like,' he continues, 'you know, love feels like, you know when you spray your deodorant and you're like holding your breath because you don't want it to go in because you know it'll feel like pesticide once it hits your throat?'

'I really don't know this,' Bokuto says. 'Is this about the wasp? Like, because that's insecticide. Pesticide is for like, farms.'

'It's not about the fucking wasp, oh my _God,_ ' Tetsurou replies desperately. 'Fucking go to bed. You're such a pigeon.'

'Glad I could help, bro.'

☼☼☼

**To:** Kozume Kenma

 **Subject:** CRISIS ALERT

KENMA,

Okay, it just doesn't befit me to write a hysterical email when we both know how calm I am as a person, not only in general but _especially_ when it comes to situations that others might panic in. One might say that it's a point of pride for me, being able to keep my cool when others are screaming and running around like chickens with their heads cut off. The logistics of chickens being able to scream despite their heads being cut off escape me for the moment, but you will excuse me as I am FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

OKAY SO. Oh my god I shouldn't be as happy about this as I am given that this whole affair could jeopardise the living fuck out of Summerfest and its main act which is the fucking Heelys and Sons, but I just. Teenagers are so SILLY. I cannot believe that we _ever_ took ourselves seriously when we were at this age, like, remember when I had that brief crush on whatshisface with the tongue piercing that he somehow managed to hide by talking with some weird lisp for the entirety of the semester that he was here? TERUSHIMA, FUCK. Where _is_ that guy?! Anyway, remember when I had that crush on him and I was really convinced that this was like, my wild love affair quota of this life? I'd make out with him under the bleachers like we were in an American sitcom and I thought he was just the _coolest_ and that this was the height of my romantic experience, both past and future. I mean, and then I ended up dating that secret agent for a year so _that_ went to shit but what I'm saying is at the time it felt so important. Remember I used to like, do my eyeliner half an inch thick and wear clip-on piercings?

I'm supposing that Kuroo Tetsurou's SUPPOSEDLY one-sided love feels just as important to him right now. It's a completely different brand from Bokuto's, too. We all know that Bokuto is a majestically shallow being when it comes to this (unsurprisingly he is the exact opposite when it comes to friendship; I know for a fact that he wouldn't hesitate for a second before murdering someone who brings harm to Kuroo) and that while he is utterly convinced of the veracity and legitimacy of his thunderous love for moi, when he decides to be done with it he'll be done, you know? Like I never existed.

Hopefully.

Anyway,

So Bokuto's fine. His version of unrequited love is fine, because not only is it extremely easy to recover from (as long as no one lets him access a tattoo parlour before he well and truly gets over me) but also because it's...genuinely unrequited? Like, him being an idiot about it isn't going to change anything. Whereas _Kuroo,_ Kenma _, Kuroo_ is not only not-fine emotionally and will take ages to get over this whole thing if it

1) ends up going south i.e. Tsukishima rejecting him from the get-go (unlikely) or saying yes but breaking up with him at some point further down the line

2) ends up going nowhere, with them becoming the kind of _GOD JUST PLEASE GET TOGETHER_ brand of snarky best friends who basically can't live without each other but somehow can't get their shit together either (before you start rolling your eyes at me REMEMBER SAWAMURA AND SUGAWARA AND HOW LONG WE COLLECTIVELY AS A GROUP HAD TO SUFFER)

but _also,_ IT'S NOT EVEN UNREQUITED. I CAN'T BELIEVE KUROO IS THIS DENSE. I ALWAYS THOUGHT THAT UNLIKE OTHERS HERE, HE HAD A BETTER AWARENESS OF HIS SURROUNDINGS THAN A BOILED SHRIMP, BUT APPARENTLY THAT WAS TOO MUCH TO ASK. It is _unfathomable_ to me that someone with his grade average is capable of so blatantly ignoring and misinterpreting what is basically Tsukishima yelling _I WANT TO DATE YOU AND SHARE A MILKSHAKE AND WATCH FIREWORKS TOGETHER_ in his face 24x7. It's almost touching. It's kind of like how Takeda-san somehow seems to overlook anything and everything Oikawa ever does, despite Oikawa walking around with a neon sign above his head that says _I AM A MAGNET FOR PEOPLE. PLEASE PUNCH ME. I AM HERE FOR YOUR PUNCHING NEEDS._

That degree of obliviousness is wholesome when it comes to turning a blind eye to the fact that one of your staff members clearly part-times for Satan, but it's just quite useless if you're going to employ it against the hints that your own crush is giving you. Not that it's any of my business— I mean, well, if it really hundred percent wasn't my business I wouldn't be writing this email to you but you get me— but I'm this close to sending Kuroo an anonymous letter saying _get your shit together_ basically.

Anyway. Onto brighter things.

Summerfest is tomorrow and I'm really hoping that everything will work out, given that this crisis also affects both Kuroo and Tsukishima's performances. Kuroo's been hanging his head and slumping his shoulders throughout his dance and let me tell you, that doesn't work when you're on Heelys. As for Tsukishima, I never knew a child so young could glare so hard. Yachi Hitoka teared up just making eye contact with him the other day. I'm going to put him in detention if he actually makes her cry.

Apart from their horrendously clumsy love affair, the rest of the students are all well-rested and well-rehearsed. I'm not really worried about this whole thing on an organisational level. The stages are set up and they look gorgeous, I'll send you some pictures. Menu's good, parents have RSVP'd, and Takeda-san has that happy peaceful look on his face, remember the one, like the one he used to have half an hour before things went to shit? Like that, but more secure and less worried about his mortality.

Going to go now for the final dress rehearsals. The kids look really sweet. I _do_ vaguely remember why I got into this profession.

Best,

Akaashi

☼☼☼

**To:** Kozume Kenma

 **Subject:** [none]

I THINK KUROO'S CRYING BACKSTAGE. WHY DO CHILDREN COMPLICATE THINGS FOR THEMSELVES? ARE THEY THAT IMPATIENT TO BE ADULTS?

☼☼☼

Now, Tetsurou is _absolutely_ not crying. He has what he likes to call situational hay fever, the symptoms of which are extremely random and totally not convenient. His particular strain of hay fever can be triggered by anything from sunlight ( _what,_ some people totally sneeze when they step out into the sun, it's a whole thing) to like, a cute video of stingrays, to a very ill-timed hug from Bokuto, to— lots of things, basically, Tetsurou thinks he's made himself clear enough already.

Anyway, his point is that he isn't _crying,_ this is just one of those unfortunate situations where something has managed to trigger his hay fever. That something happens to be a cute little duet performance by two of the first years, some kind of silly little song about cherry blossoms and the river that flows and, whatever, Doc Martens. The problem is it's a very _cute_ song and it's very lovey-dovey and they're too shy to hold hands while singing it and the whole stage is lit up in pink and singers don't need _dress_ rehearsals so they're just in uniform but that's even _cuter,_ and the worst part of it all is that Tetsurou's backstage but so is Tsukishima, and Tsukishima's actually half-coloured in the stage's lighting and he has an inkstain on his nose and Tetsurou is so...very... _allergic._

'I can't believe I'm going to die alone,' he sniffles to Iwatobi, who's Heelying by with a stack of books. 'Do you ever think about those things? What if nobody ever loves you? What then, Iwa-chan?'

'Don't call me Iwa-chan,' Iwatobi replies, but his own voice is strangely gruff, 'you flaming heap of garbage.'

So Tetsurou continues to battle his hay fever all on his own like the valiant yet solitary lone-wolf type of figure that he is, and he figures he'd better get used to all this solitary fighting anyway. After all, _no one's ever going to love him_ and he's going to have to get Tsukishima's name tattooed on an obscure location on his body but like, not his ass or something, more like his armpit? And he's going to be alone forever, and—

'Why are you _crying,_ ' Tsukishima says, and much like Iwatobi he's trying to sound mean but just sounds a little concerned. A lot concerned, actually. 'Are you sick?'

'I am, actually,' Tetsurou replies. 'I have hay fever.'

'No, you don't,' Tsukishima says.

'I could have hay fever.'

'But you don't. Now do you want to tell me why you're crying or should I get Bokuto?'

'NO,' Tetsurou says, the entirety of his seventeen years of life flashing in front of his eyes at the idea of Bokuto catching him not-crying; worse, with any sort of picture-taking device within arm's reach. 'Look. I'm...'

The first years' performance comes to an end, and as they step off the stage, Tetsurou gathers himself enough to turn and face Tsukishima. He looks a little annoyed but mostly worried, and it's so cute. The inkstain on his nose is so cute. He has a pen tucked over his ear like always. For fuck's sake, he looks like a personal assistant on the set of a film or something, and Tetsurou wishes he wasn't an orange.

'I'm sorry,' he says, and Tsukishima frowns harder. 'Okay, so. I promise I'm not playing a prank on you or something, but like.'

'Like...?'

Now, Tetsurou's _sure_ that ten years down the line, whether he's getting married to Tsukishima or some Norwegian girl he met on an archeology dig in Bulgaria, he's _sure_ that when he gives his wedding speech he's going to bring this moment up. Why? Well, not because it was his very first love, his very first real crush, or whatever. Well, not _only_ because of all that crap. No, Tetsurou will bring this moment up for the pure fact of it being one of the stupidest things that he has ever let out of his mouth, in a romantic context or not. Face to face with who he recognises as his first love, his almost-high-school-sweetheart, the cutest boy he's ever seen, and the first person to (most probably) break his heart, Tetsurou opens his mouth to confess his love—

'Look, I'm an _orange,_ ' he blurts. 'Okay? I get it. I'm the orangiest orange ever, but also, so are _you,_ but _I'm_ not allergic to you but I get that I should be because that way it's mutual. But I wish we weren't, right? Because I think you're— anyway. I'm just going to Heely away forever and practice my dance and leave you alone. Because clearly I'm too orange for you.'

Tsukishima looks blankly at him, the print of his T-shirt transformed into polite question marks.

'I have no idea what you just said to me,' he says slowly, as if afraid of scaring Tetsurou away, 'but I gather that you've somehow decided that I don't like you?'

Tetsurou blinks at him. 'I mean, I know you don't hate me.'

'Oh, I definitely hate you,' Tsukishima replies. 'But I also like you. I...I mean, I don't know what that whole orange thing was, but I'm not any more allergic to oranges than you are to pollen. If that makes you feel better?'

'Kind of,' Tetsurou says. The sniffles are dangerously close to making a comeback. 'But I'm not just not-allergic to you. I kind of really like you.'

If Tsukishima blushes at that, the bright stage lights filtering through the gaps in the curtains hide it. But he definitely _looks_ that exact kind of frowny and grumpy that he does when he's blushing, so Tetsurou lets one tiny bit of hope interrupt his sniffling.

'I don't like grapes,' Tsukishima says, then. 'So shut up about oranges, first of all. I don't like grapes and I still steal them from your bowl. And Bokuto texted me thrice offering to send me your number and I didn't take it because I wanted _you_ to notice mine. And I keep that stupid seashell necklace in my pencil case.'

'Huh,' Tetsurou says. 'Well, then.'

'No, you _dumbass_ ,' Tsukishima says. 'I'm saying I like you. Orange or not. And I'm so uncomfortable right now but I'm willing to go through it because it's ten times more uncomfortable to be acutely aware of how _dense_ you are.'

'I _am_ a dense Croc,' Tetsurou confirms. 'Wait, what.'

'Kuroo,' Tsukishima says, in a tone of disbelief. ' _I like your orange ass. Romantically._ '

In that moment, a bunch of things happen. Whoever's performing next starts their performance and for better or for worse it's some kind of rock song so all they can hear is one single, deafening electric guitar note. During this note that seems to last a week and a half, lights of every colour flash on the stage, making Tsukishima curse loudly, and it is _while_ he's cursing that he yanks Tetsurou close unceremoniously and goes, in a loud voice, 'DO YOU WANT TO KISS ME?'

'WHAT?' Tetsurou says.

'DO YOU WANT TO KISS ME,' Tsukishima repeats, but Tetsurou's brain has caught up by then.

☼☼☼

The note must've ended at some point, he guesses, but he's hardly paying attention.

☼☼☼

**To:** Kozume Kenma

 **Subject:** All's well that ends well...?

Kenma,

The crisis has been resolved, and I'm not even talking about the Summerfest. Though I guess you know that by now, Summerfest was the least of _anyone's_ priorities, with the exception of Shimizu who I have understood is a being that exists on a level of efficiency that none of us can ever hope to achieve. No, _Shimizu,_ from start to finish, was focused on the Summerfest and single-handedly managed to pull off all the logistics of it. Without breaking a sweat or getting one eyebrow hair out of place. (I mean I did borrow her brow gel the other way and I can say with confidence that this one thing she definitely cheated at. That shit nitrogen-freezes your eyebrows.)

In fact, when I think about it, a number of crises have been resolved. Well, two. But you know, those two crises could've endangered the future of fall term so their importance is exponential. I know you must be twirling your can in your hand with a certain annoyance at this point, impatient to find out what happened and _how_ all the bullshit was taken care of, and I have bad news for you: I only have a first-hand account (mine) of _one_ of the two pivotal events that have changed the future of fall term forever. However, you know that even if I knew what exactly went down with the other one, I wouldn't tell you. Not over email, at least. I don't trust those hacker kids.

That being said, I can absolutely tell you of the crisis resolution that I was not only witness to, but an active participant of. Now, you know that the whole Kawaii.PNG problem wasn't really an _active_ problem, per se, apart from the flowers and that French translation of _The Communist Manifesto_ which I still instinctively link back to Bokuto Koutarou. Nonetheless, technically it can't even be counted as a crisis, unless you analyse the long-term damage it could've caused if untended. I mean, just imagine. Bokuto Koutarou, under the impression that he is in wild, passionate, and illegal love with a teaching assistant, going on to a great volleyball career with his unrequited love as his only core personality trait. I see him making a whole thing out of it (I mean, I guess you don't because you've never met him, but BELIEVE YOU ME.) and probably getting a tattoo with some vague quote from some deeply philosophical book. HE COULD BE OUT THERE CAPTAIN OF HIS TEAM FOR THE NATIONALS WITH _WE ARE ALL IN THE GUTTER BUT SOME OF US ARE LOOKING AT THE STARS_ TATTOOED ON HIS ARMPIT, KENMA. And this is the _best case scenario_ that I can come up with.

Anyway. I have reason enough to believe that Bokuto Koutarou coming to his senses about his crush on me can carry a genuine tag of "Crisis Averted". I have saved the dignity of his future university's volleyball team, they just don't know it. They should give me a honorary degree. Maybe then I can stop lying about speaking Russian on my résumé.

Anyway. I'm sure you're dying to know how we went about the whole thing, in which case I have more bad news for you: nothing more boring (yet relieving, of course) has ever happened to me in my life.

See, I was sitting backstage with a good can of coffee as one does after a weekend of hard work, and I was sitting on top of a bunch of costumes bundled up on a metal chair so rickety that it has no business still existing in the world. Knees drawn up to my chest and all. You know, like a little gremlin. One of those times where I wondered whether I should really have given up smoking after all. Even a vape would've been welcome, you know?

Anyway. I'm sitting there on top of the mountain of costumes, gremlin style with my canned coffee, using these five blessed minutes of solitude to take a mental count of all the props and kids and being satisfied that it was a general success despite almost really not being one, and out of nowhere I hear Bokuto Koutarou's unmistakable footsteps. Well, actually, I hear the unmistakable sound of his fucking Heelys against the floor, approaching me at an alarming speed. Now, given that their whole routine was a Heelys affair, it could arguably have been anyone. But nearly midnight, an hour after the very last of the performances? Only Bokuto Koutarou could possibly still have kept his Heelys on. Now that I think about it, it was a grave mistake not to confiscate those things from him the moment his performance was over. (I mean, it was a grave mistake giving them to him in the first place, but we've been over that. Numerous times.)

So I hear Bokuto Koutarou's Heelys come Heelying down the hall to where I am trying to enjoy my canned beverage, and not one second after I have finished sighing in resignation, Bokuto Koutarou Heelys his way to an admittedly graceful right in front of my gremlin self.

"Yo," he says to a spot on the wall behind me. "Teach."

"Hello, Bokuto. Did you say goodbye to your parents?"

"Sure did. I'm seeing them soon anyway. Are you going home?"

"Not really. I'll be traveling with a few friends; I'm quite looking forward to it."

"Bet you are. Bet you're sick of me," Bokuto says, and I start a little, put my can away. "That's fine. I'm here to announce that I'm giving up on you."

"Ah?" I say. "What do you mean?"

"Don't pretend," Bokuto says. (He looked so forlorn too, like it would've genuinely been a little sad if I didn't know how much he was enjoying every single second of it. His first real rejection, the RELISH. I HATE teenagers. Honestly Kenma, this family benefits from the fact that I am gay and don't want to have children.) "I'm sure my undying and blood-boiling one-sided love has been an annoyance to you."

"Look, Bokuto." At this point I was ready to get this over with, finish my coffee, and go to bed. But the kid threw up a hand dramatically and SIGHED THROUGH HIS NOSTRILS. I didn't realise how _adult_ that is until I saw him do an approximation of it. I'm pretty sure he choked a little but I pretended for both our sakes not to notice. Anyway.

"ANYWAY," Bokuto said then, after finishing his choking ordeal. "I'm here to say that I don't love you anymore."

"Okay," I said, not without some relief. "Thank you."

"I'm into _Oikawa-san_ now," he added.

"That works for me," I said. "Wait. WHAT."

Now, Kenma, you have to understand that I was very exhausted by the entire weekend, and being in Bokuto Koutarou's presence activates my fight or flight instinct. It's a wonder that I even managed to _react_ to his statement, let alone talk him out of the whole thing. Yes, you read that right: I managed to talk Bokuto Koutarou out of deciding to be in love with Oikawa Tooru because _that_ is a situation that— I shudder to think of it. Not that I doubt Oikawa's integrity for a single moment, but also, I don't doubt Bokuto's stupidity either. And integrity or not, Oikawa is just a highly chaotic human being and I don't want a flame to meet another flame. No thanks. Anyway, what you should gather from this is that I managed to convince him _not_ to even attempt to woo Oikawa, that it could end only in misery, that he wasn't allowed to woo anyone on campus older than him, that he wasn't allowed to woo anyone period until he was one hundred percent sure that he really wanted to woo them and wasn't just bored, and that he had to be open to the possibility that despite doing it better the next time, his woo-ee might just not be interested.

At which point Bokuto very nobly accepted the wisdom I had imparted upon him, and, nodding solemnly, reached around to pull something out of his back pocket. Upon inspection (once I took it from his outstretched hand) I realised that it was a violently crushed version of the bizarre little flower that he brought to me every single day of term, and I have to admit that a smile came to my face.

"Don't ever forget me, teach," Bokuto said, melodrama making his voice shake. "When I go to play nationals and stuff I'll think about how hot you were."

"Thank you, Bokuto," I replied. "See you next term."

Best,

Akaashi

PS - I'm sure you're wondering about the second crisis. Well, it was more than averted. It was positively turned on its head into something that can be called a happy ending. I won't tell you all the details but let's just say that all the students went home today, and I saw Tsukishima wearing a very distinctive (and very tacky) seashell necklace, thirty seconds before I saw Kuroo strut by in a pair of bumblebee socks pulled up to his knees.

☼☼☼

**From:** Tsukishima Kei

 **Subject:** Invitation

Dear professor Akaashi,

Thank you for the phone call, it was lovely catching up. Here's a copy so that you have the exact dates in your calendar.

Looking forward to seeing you there. Tetsurou sends his best.

Regards,

Tsukishima

 **1 ATTACHMENT:** SAVETHEDATE.pdf

☼☼☼

**From:** Tsukishima Kei

 **Subject:** [none]

 **1 ATTACHMENT:** STILLKAWAII.png

**Author's Note:**

> [VERY NICE - SEVENTEEN](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J-wFp43XOrA)
> 
> you can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/tricksteller).
> 
> all my thanksest thanks to long-suffering megi for reading this through for me.
> 
>  **eren jack daniels, 19:28**  
>  name an object  
> liek a random ass object
> 
>  **ярик, 19:31**  
>  uh....jar of bees???  
> you need to be VERY SPECIFIC WITH ME TEESTA


End file.
